


There is a Frank That Never Makes Sense (Except for this One Time)

by chaosandcosmos



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-11
Updated: 2013-03-11
Packaged: 2017-12-04 22:37:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/715867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaosandcosmos/pseuds/chaosandcosmos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Frank is devious and Bob is wary -- like always. However, it happens to be for a slightly more understandable reason.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There is a Frank That Never Makes Sense (Except for this One Time)

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever MCR fic, so I apologize for the unavoidable OOC and plot that may not be parallel to any certain timeline. Naturally, I was inclined to write my OTP, Bryero. Hope you enjoy. 
> 
> P.S: the title is inspired by *that* Smiths song. Love 'em.

If there was anything about Frank that you had to know in order for your survival, the first thing Bob would tell you is that above all else, do not touch his guitar.

Everyone had their vices. For Mikey, it was his phone. For Gee, it was his coffee. For Bob himself it wasn’t any possession or type of sustenance. It was the treatment of animals, but that’s a whole other story. Frank, being the perpetual ambivalent weirdo he is, decided that once he named his instrument, it was his holy grail of sorts and to “defile” it with dirty hands was a disgrace not only to him, but to your mother as well. (Bob learned by now not to argue against Frank’s logic, but that didn’t stop him from wondering where the fuck he came up with it.)

After the accident wherein he fortuitously smashed Pansy, his beloved white Les Paul, into an MTV sign, Frank became even more protective of his guitars. No one, not even Ray, was allowed to even carry it, let alone strum it themselves.

No one dared to find out what would happen if they did. Frank may have been a short, pixie-like man with the attention span and hyperactivity of a four year-old, but when he got angry, he got angry.

Bob didn’t question it. Frank had habits of getting attached to inanimate objects. His X-Box was named Billie Joe — after the dude from Green Day, naturally — and he was always talking about marrying it, since it already had the ‘ring’.

Whatever, Bob didn’t take it too seriously. He sincerely doubted that Frank would give up sex for, or actually have sex with, a gaming system.

Anyway, he just accepted this fact, along with the rest of the band and techs and sound management. It was just another thing about Frank that he couldn’t understand, but loved him for it anyway.

He had never really thought about the possible significance of his guitars, just kind of rolled with it on default. So he was surprised when Frank, during sound check, came up to him with a sincere, though sly, smile on his face compared to his mischievous, split-faced grins that told him he most likely just finished attempting to shave Ray’s hair or hide Mikey’s socks.

More suspicious than ever, Bob willed his calloused hands to still. He leaned over his kit and glared at him. “What?” he had asked.

That stupid expression that Bob wanted to slap off and kiss at the same time only increased in obnoxiousness. But even though Frank was trying noticeably hard to purposefully annoy him, there was a rare gentleness in his eyes that prevented him from doing anything about it.

New Gibson around his neck, Frank said simply, “You bought it for me.”

Bob had been confused. Why the hell was he bringing that up? “I did, but…uh.” Frank hadn’t said anything more. He just turned and began running through a few tunes again, standing beside Gee.

He’d been ashamed to admit it, but it took him a while to figure out what Frank had meant. But once he did, he couldn’t let it go.

He didn’t let anyone touch Leslie because Bob had bought it for him. He didn’t know any other importance of his other equipment, but that one reason was enough to satisfy him beyond belief.

Amid the show that night, Bob had brushed his sweaty bangs from his eyes and met Frank’s smirk, the one he knew as a universal indication of his devilry. He smiled back.

Something about Frank Iero finally made some fucking sense. And he was glad that he was part of it.


End file.
